


Empty Eyes

by ThereIsNoTragedyInThat



Series: The Hero and The Thief [2]
Category: The Great Wall (2017)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Death, Established Relationship, M/M, Sad and Sweet, Self-Indulgent, That is all, hint of fluff, i had fun with this, warriors - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 23:49:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29990703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereIsNoTragedyInThat/pseuds/ThereIsNoTragedyInThat
Summary: Sometimes...they grew tired of killing.
Relationships: William Garin/Pero Tovar
Series: The Hero and The Thief [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2199645
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Empty Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Forehead touch

Tovar’s axe was heavy in his hand, the muscles in his arm aching fiercely, the strain as familiar as an old friend, a welcomed agony, except when he raised it, a hoarse cry echoing from his lips, a wave of exhaustion overcame him. He supposed it was luck and muscle memory that saved his life, feet moving swiftly into a twirl, the momentum of his weapon bringing him around just in time to imbed its sharpened tip into the neck and shoulder of his attacker.

Striking blue eyes met his, wide and fearful, as blood bubbled up his throat and out of his mouth, joining the stream that washed down his front as his knees buckled. Tovar’s felt his lips curl in disgust, jerking his arm back with a wince to free it from the corpse that slumped into the dirt.

He could feel his head swiveling slowly, blinking back grit and sweat, searching for anyone rushing at him, grateful when he found none. His limbs felt heavier then usual and he wasn’t one for poetry but there was old kind of pain deep in his chest, one that grew with each of these encounters, with each body that fell at his feet.

Raising his gaze to the caravan they’d been charged with defending, he found William standing on top of the wagon, bow in hand. The high ground was where he excelled, had saved his life countless times by watching his back when Tovar couldn’t be bothered to, when Tovar wasn’t sure he wanted to.

There was a small distance between them, too far to see the comforting shades of his eyes but he knew they were fixed on him, could feel the heaviness from where he was. For a long moment they stood there, and Tovar felt an understanding pass between them, unspoken. Looking down, he stared at where his fingers curled firmly around the handle of his weapon, the old leather bindings running thin with use, his own hand drenched in blood and dirt.

Around him, bodies crowded together, caught in the throes of death. Most were strangers, mouths agape and expressions empty, others were recent companions, sell swords and mercenaries they’d travelled these past weeks with. They blurred together and Tovar could no longer see what was directly in front of him, could no longer distinguish these people from the myriad of souls he’d snuffed out all these years.

He had never pretended to be something he wasn’t.

Death did not scare him, not truly, often found himself a little resentful when he still breathed after a long and brutal fight. Sometimes he wondered if death found him wanting, could hardly be bothered with him at all. Tovar hadn’t expected to live even a quarter of the years he had and was surprised in the end…to find someone whom he wanted to live for.

William had climbed down from the wagon, was picking his way across the small battlefield, pausing only to pick up the occasional arrow, tugging it ruthlessly from still twitching bodies. As Tovar watched him approach, watched him ignore the other men scavenging the dead and the merchants who stared with varying degrees of distaste and horror, he felt something inside him break away.

Inhaling slowly, taking in the acidic scent of battle, a nauseating mix of sweat, urine, blood, and dirt, he let it be imprinted on his mind. William stood in front of him now, his hand gripping Tovar’s shoulder tightly and his familiar eyes intense as they slowly crawled across his body in a long-practiced inspection.

Reaching up, Tovar let his hand rest on the nape of his companions’ neck, slid his hand higher until he was cupping the back of his head and gently eased him forward. William’s lips twitched, even as his gaze remained serious, always so damned serious.

Tovar released a sigh of relief as their foreheads touched, pressed closer than they had in weeks. They were mindful when travelling, to keep their affection in check, to keep to themselves and it was almost embarrassing how much he’d missed this.

“You’re alright?” William inquired quietly.

Words were not easy to find, his limbs beginning to shake as the adrenalin faded from his blood, still he forced out a soft grunt, if only to put his companion’s fears at ease. The soft chuckle it earned him, was reassuring enough.

A high-pitched whistle broke them from the moment, as the men still standing began to organize themselves, corralling horses and shouting to one another about positions and supplies. Pulling away, Tovar shared a look with William, and they were in easy agreement, as they always were.

Easing his bow over his shoulder, Tovar watched him scan the horizon, “what are you thinking? East or should we head back South?”

Contemplating for a moment, he let his head turn back the way they’d just come, a winding road moving through the prairies, lush with rabbits to feat on and soft earth on which to lay while staring at the stars. Water would be scarce but he had no qualms about taking a few skins from the caravan they’d been protecting, they’d be in the valley soon.

East on the other hand, would eventually meet the mountains, would find them at Elder’s Pass and beyond that, small towns and fields and eventually cities. Tovar found himself looking at the body of the boy he’d killed, barely twenty and knew that must be where he called home.

“South, I think.”

William nodded, reached out to squeeze his hand once before making his way back to the line of wagons. Tovar didn’t move, knew he would steal what supplies they needed and be on their way before the caravan began to move again.

Sometimes…they tired of killing and did not need coin quite so desperately as they needed peace for awhile.

Leaning down on one knee, Tovar reached out and slowly slid the boy’s eyes closed so they no longer stared at the bright sun, so that he’d have something a little less haunting in the dreams that would surely visit him that night.


End file.
